


Blood, Sweat and Tears

by Unfeathered



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Blood and Torture, Bodily Fluids, Community: seasonofkink, Crying, Cutting, Hurt Jack Harkness, Knifeplay, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sweat, Tears, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfeathered/pseuds/Unfeathered
Summary: During the year on the Valiant, the Master plays with his toy
Relationships: Jack Harkness/The Master, Jack Harkness/The Master (Simm)
Kudos: 19
Collections: Season of Kink





	Blood, Sweat and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [seasonofkink](https://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org) bingo, prompt: _bodily fluids_
> 
> This feels like it's the same 'verse as my [Master Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150527) series, although it's not set at any particular point within it and stands alone perfectly well.

The human body has so many different fluids in it. Blood, pus, sweat, spit, urine, tears… I like tears. I like seeing Jack cry. Seeing those angry, desperate tears rolling down his handsome cheeks, knowing how hard he's tried to hold them in, tried not to show me how much I'm getting to him.

His sweat, too. Evidence of how hard he's working for me, whatever it is I'm asking him to do. Whether it's holding position while I hurt him – or fuck him – or fighting futilely to stay alive while I kill him.

Oh, and his blood. I love seeing his blood. Splatters of it across the walls of his cell, great puddles of it spreading across his floor, sometimes all twelve pints of it. (Well, eleven point five nine three, actually, according to the one time I drained him completely of blood, just to see precisely how much he contained. Amazing how long he managed to cling onto life during that one.)

Or little rivulets of blood, snaking across his skin, as they are now, every pained breath he takes altering their path. He's _trying_ to be still, bless him, because I told him to and because he knows just how fine an art this is, how easily my scalpel could _slip_ and sever something vital. Not that that would really be an issue with him, of course, but I _did_ mention that if he were to mar all my beautiful carvings I'd have to kill him and start all over again. Quite an incentive, really. So he's clinging hard onto the edges of the table, muscles taut, breathing shallow, trying so hard to be still for me as I etch beautiful patterns into his skin, blood welling up out of them, bright red on golden tan.

He's so vital, so much vibrant _life_ fizzing away beneath that handsome shell. It's glorious letting some of that vitality out, watching it seep slowly out of him and run down his skin to pool on the table beneath him.

Wherever it isn't bloody, his skin glistens with sweat, prompting the occasional flinch when it stings into one of the cuts I've made on him. Blood and sweat, all over him, shining and beautiful.

Another cut, long and shallow, curving down his flank. And oh, look, there are the tears – weary, helpless tears as his resolve runs thin and he reaches the end of his ability to take it all manfully. Lovely tears, slowly welling up and spilling over, big beads of clear, salty fluid rolling down his cheeks. I lean over to wipe them away with my thumb, and smile when that brings his agonised gaze up to my face. I suck his tears off my digit, tasting his desperation, his pain, his fear, and decide there's one more fluid I want to add to the mix.

He watches with faint curiosity as I drop my hand to my flies, and then he turns his head away, apparently not feeling the need to watch his Lord and Master find pleasure in his pain and bring himself to completion over him. He gasps and flinches, though, when my come spatters over him, white amongst the red. I wonder if it stings? (I'll ask him later.) I trail a finger through it, rasping over split skin, swirling the colours together, and he shudders and pants and holds himself still for me even now because, after all, what choice does he have?

"Thank you, Captain," I say magnanimously, as I clean myself up with my handkerchief and then tuck myself away. I grin down at him. "You really are _such_ a treat!"

He glares up at me, but doesn't quite dare retort as he'd obviously like to. Sensible man. It really would be silly to make me have to start all over again _now_ , wouldn't it? Just when I'm about to leave?

I aim a beaming smile down at his helpless, pain-wracked body, and turn towards the door.

"See you tomorrow, Jack," I toss over my shoulder, wondering if he'll bleed out there on the table or if he'll survive it. Wondering which would be more fun.

Well. Whichever occurs, I can try out the other tomorrow, can't I?

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd so please do let me know if you spot any typos or bits that don't make any sense!


End file.
